


"Who’s to say Henry *couldn't* be a puppet master who cursed the Lord of Shadows' dick?"

by partybird_dot_jpg



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Enthusiastic Consent, Fingering, Leviathan Obey Me Deserves To Get His Snussy Ate, Light-Hearted, Lucifer is named as a concept but not present, Non-Conventional Demon Genetalia, Oral Sex, Other, Pet Names, Squirting, To Be Continued........???, Uncontrollable Pre Nut Pogging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28953882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partybird_dot_jpg/pseuds/partybird_dot_jpg
Summary: Leviathan! Gets! Head!
Relationships: Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Leviathan's Beanbag/the sweet embrace of death
Comments: 22
Kudos: 127





	"Who’s to say Henry *couldn't* be a puppet master who cursed the Lord of Shadows' dick?"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pittoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pittoo/gifts).



> If you start in with transphobic dogshit in my comments, you owe me money! I'm vetting comments for the sake of the comfort of others, so don't be worried if it takes a bit to get them posted.
> 
> Now that that's out of the way; This really, Really got out of hand. I wrote most of it in comic sans, blasting anything from character songs to DNCE to anything with a good beat and the potential to be a fucksong, in some sort of 'Leviathan Deserves To Get Eaten Out' haze. I *very* specifically added some stuff for the sake of hitting that sweet sweet 6.9k mark in my google document, and this has not been beta-ed whatsoever, so please be nice. [EDIT: IT WENT DOWN TO 6.7k GUESS I HAVE TO DELETE THE WHOLE FIC AAAAAAA]

When it comes to being intimate with Leviathan, you don’t think you want to see him undressed entirely. Not for lack of interest, because you love seeing the soft curve of his back and the pudge just over his stomach, but because he looks so, so much comfortable covered up-- In his own element. Safe. _Comfortable._

“Y-You-- You look so good, s-so good…” He says, as he leans back into the comforting warmth of the beanbag he’s settled in. The soft expanse of his stomach is partially bared from under the hoodie he’d thrown on when he woke up earlier, and as you work your way down from cheek, to throat, to shoulder, to chest, to abdomen-- You press kisses, appreciatively, everywhere you can reach-- Letting yourself brush against the thick tuft of hair just barely stuck out from his sweats in the process, which prompts him to begin to babble. “I can’t imagine how poggers it’ll feel to go further with you!”

Annnd you stop. You love him, you really do, but holy shit, a time and a place.

“Baby,” Your tone is warning, but warm. You lift your head, resting your chin on his stomach. “What did we say about pogging in bed?”

He pauses. Flusters immediately. 

“Th-That I need to wait? Before I can-- Before I can tell you how poggers you are? I need to wait until we’re done-- I’m sorry! Please don’t stop-- _please_ don’t stop--”

Properly appeased, you nod, sitting up a little in place, hands slipping up the outside of his thighs as you adjust your posture appropriately. Casting one more glance his way, he gives you an encouraging, warm smile-- Though it’s hidden behind his hands, which he’s brought up to his face in a vain attempt at preserving his dignity. It’s cute that he looks like he thinks he still has any, all things considered. 

“Good boy. Go ahead and lift yourself up a little so I can get you out of these-- ‘nless you plan on soaking ‘em.”

And then your fingers curl around the waistband of his sweats, and you tug once he’s lifted his hips up enough for you to do anything but uselessly tug at his clothing-- Pulling the offending garment as far down his legs as you can manage without fully undressing him. The wiry trail of hair that you’d nuzzled up against earlier gets thicker the further between his legs your eyes drift, only interrupted by the soft lavender of his briefs-- Which you… Don’t recognize. Maybe they were new?

Sucking in a tight breath, he lets one hand drop to his stomach, curling in on himself, slightly, in an attempt at covering himself as he strains to control his breathing. Rather than tease him too much too soon, you simply lean down to press a kiss to the inside of his thigh, slowly working his sweats down to his feet. The socks he’d picked-- Cute ones, reaching just below the knees and patterned with the insignia of the Lord of Shadows-- stay on, though that does mean you wind up having to take a great deal of ~~completely un~~ necessary care to keep them in place, slowly undressing him like you’re unwrapping a gift. You know, one that you want to kiss a lot. His breaths start to get unsteady, uneven, and it takes you stroking up his calf on the side still partially in his sweats for his composure to break, leaving him rolling his hips up into the air as he sucks in a sharp breath; A hiss. 

“I-- I can’t--” Breathe in, out. You let your chest settle against his leg, breathing deliberately as you wait for him to work through the words. “I’m not going to b-- I’m not going to _break_ , you know, y-- you can…” 

Oh, you know. Doesn’t mean you don’t want him to say it, though. 

“I can what, baby?” You say, easing his sweats off _finally_ , dropping them to the side carelessly and turning your head to press kisses to the warm, flushed, perhaps a little clammy skin of his inner thighs. There’s scars there-- Ones you’ve never felt right to ask about, but ones that you take care to treat as any other expanse of skin on him. As he struggles to keep his composure through your careful consideration, you smile, looking up at him through heavy lashes.

“Tell me what you need,” you croon, “I don’t want to guess when it comes to you, you know. There’s too many risks. Too many ways I could hurt you if I don’t do this right. I want this to be good for both of us-- So don’t hold back, okay?”

He’s staring at you, stars in his eyes and face flushed to the point that you’re worried that he might faint, as he lets up on his death grip on the hem of his hoodie and hides his face again, groaning quietly. His thighs flex a little, but with you poised between them, keeping them separated with your frame, he can’t really close them like he’d want to. 

“You-- You can be rougher with me,” He says, eventually, muffled by his hands and sleeves. “I want you-- I want you to touch me. Everywhere. Put your mouth-- Put your mouth _there_ \--” He says, the words coming a little faster now, as his knees pull in toward eachother, and _something_ under his briefs flexes, only barely pressing against the taut fabric but leaving a considerable streak of gleaming, fresh slickness that darkens the fabric and _definitely_ piques your interest. 

“I-- I want to be _yours_ ,” he says, someplace between a whine and a plea, “I want to feel you inside of me. Your fingers your tongue, anything-- Please, I need _something_ , I’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks, ever since you talked about trying this out-- Please, _please_.”

… Well, when he puts it that way…

“... Baby,” You say, turning your head to his opposite thigh, lathing further attention-- kisses, nips, bites, licks-- to the skin there, digging your fingers in and making it apparent you have no intentions of letting go; Not when he asked you so nicely to do the opposite. You tug him closer, rucking his hoodie up his torso, and turn so that you’re hovering your lips just over that far, far too tempting streak of wetness, letting cool breaths part your lips as you speak. 

“You already _are_ mine,” You start, allowing your gaze to lift toward where he’s managed to pry his hands off of his face temporarily. “And I didn’t plan on letting you come out of this without being thoroughly _fucked_ in the best of ways, however you want that to happen. ‘S a promise. Now-- D’you trust me?” You ask, nuzzling into his thigh.

It takes him a second, sputtering a few times before he brings his fist to his mouth, averting his eyes. After a second, he nods. 

“Y-Yeah, of course I do-- You’re my _Henry_ after all, why wouldn’t I trust you t-to… To take… To take care of me--?” 

Perfect. 

You give him a fond smile, and try your best to not let the way he called you _his_ Henry distract you from your careful ministrations, though it doesn’t work too well, as you leave a few more open mouthed kisses on his thighs and hide your face with your hair, grinning and flushed despite yourself. 

“Of course, _my Lord_ , I want nothing more than to take care of you how you deserve.” you mumble, eventually getting to the point where you’re brushing up against the patch of wetness with your nose when you move, which prompts Leviathan to make his best efforts to crush your skull with his thighs as he whines and squirms. You pull back, meeting his starstruck gaze with a wry smile, once hes relaxed enough for you to do so, hands finding the band of his briefs. You linger there for a few moments, straining up to kiss his stomach and whatever else you can reach from your abysmal vantage point, as he adjusts, eventually giving you the go ahead when he starts to, oh so subtly, lift his hips up and wriggle in your direction, pressing up on the balls of his feet. 

“Eager,” You tease. “Can’t wait until you get to be fucked by my tongue, can you? I don’t blame you.”

He makes a noise that vaguely sounds like a response, but mostly like the death throes of a particularly flustered wild animal. Good enough.

The briefs are a little harder to work off of him than the sweats were; They’re slicker than you’d initially realized on the inside, and form fitted in a way that makes working them down his thighs a process that he, eventually, has to help you out with. You still leave the socks on, which he seems to appreciate, and chuck the offending undergarments to the side -- SItting up and leaning in to catch his lips in a slow, heated kiss, as your fingers wander up to the slick heat between his legs. 

As you stroke your fingers carefully over the horizontal vent typically hidden by his pubes, Leviathan-- He isn’t keeping it together. Whatsoever. You’d like to say that he is for his own dignity, but to call the whimpers and squirming composed is… Well. You know he doesn’t like it when you lie (poorly) to spare his feelings. And, honestly-- Is he ever really that concerned with his dignity, anyway? That one forty-eight hour livestream you’d partially sat through with him last month says no, in a big way, but that’s a story for another time. As it stands, you take a moment to break the kiss for a breath, though the needy demon beneath you certainly seems to be under the impression that neither of you need something as detrimental to his continued attention as oxygen. So as to not deprive him for too long, you work your way down to his ear, catching the tip with your own blunted canines and tugging, lightly, as you ease your first finger inside of him.

The reaction is automatic. He freezes up, making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, before melting into the contact with a low whine. Despite his adjustment, you still pull away a touch, so your voice-- soft, just a little unsteady with how fast the blood is pumping in your ears-- doesn’t have to carry too far. 

“Color, baby.” You murmur, keeping your finger in place, despite the squirming further inside of him, the body-cool tips of his cocks just barely slipped from their sheath and harmlessly pulling at your finger. He’s soaked, and a part of you is grateful you don’t really care about your own outfit for the day, because as you continue to have your finger stroked, the furthest thing from your mind is how to keep all of Leviathan’s fluids off of your clothes. 

“Gh--” He grunts, clenching a little around your finger, though you both know he’s handled and likely wants something a little more substantial than something so small. “Gr-- Green. It just-- Its been a while, o-okay?” He blurts, digging his fangs into the meat of his lower lip as he watches you, those slit pupils of his blown wide and only widening when he happens to glance down between the both of you. 

“Good. You’re a little tight,” You say, which isn’t exactly NOT the truth, but it’s a little overkill, considering how wet he is and how much give there is between his lips. Giving a little crook of your fingers that prompts him to curse under his breath, you continue. “So I’m going to work you open for a bit before I do anything crazy, alright?”

He can’t possibly not know what's happening here. He _has_ to know. A shaky little smile pulls at the corners of his lips, and though he keeps his hand over his mouth, the crinkle of the corners of his eyes speaks to the warm mirth in his gaze. Despite his fondness, he can’t keep that desperate edge out of his voice. 

“Please,” comes the whine, “Please, I can take it, can’t you-- It’s okay! Really! I can take it!”

You huff a laugh, before reaching forward, pinning his hip down against the rustling give of the beanbag with one hand. Finger buried inside of him, you crook it again, and he presses his hands firmer over his mouth, huffing out a sharp puffing breath over his fingers. 

“We’re taking this slow, baby,” You croon, as you start to work your finger further into him, allowing his tips to clasp around the intrusion, slicking it further and making your attention even less necessary. “I’m going to take care of you, just like I promised. You’ve just got to be my strong Lord of Shadows, and trust me. You’re going to cum as much as you want tonight.” Pause. “Maybe even more than that, if you wind up amenable to it, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

The look in his eyes speaks to his excitement, but it’s apparent that he can’t bring himself to actually say the words while you’re fucking him, so you stop-- A second finger teasing the soft folds of skin getting more and more present the longer you work him over but never slipping inside. As you wait for him to calm down again, you allow your finger to be moved at the whim of his cockheads, feeling them reflexively pull and push your digit inside of him. The texture there is… Different, than what you’re used to. Everything seems bound and determined to capture and hold what brushes against it, sticky and rough and soft in a way that’s purely, uniquely Leviathan.

"I t-trust-- I trust-- I--” Unfortunately, allowing him to do this hasn’t helped him be able to string sentences together, and eventually you press upwards, firmly, locking your finger up against those squirming, treacherous tips of his-- Leaving you to feel the harsh twitch of something thicker someplace beneath the internal sheath, another curiosity that needed to wait until you weren’t knuckle deep inside of him. Maybe.. Without the additional feedback from his own shameless assisted masturbation and after a weak, warbling noise pulls from his lips and a small gush of slick wet heat slips out of him around your finger, he finally manages to clear his throat, pushing his hair out of his face. “... I t-trust you-- I just-- What if I don’t last? What if it’s too much? It’s always so _messy_ , and--” 

You ease yourself out of him. All the way, stroking two fingers through the mess of pearly lavender fluid that seeps from him almost uncontrollably now but never dipping back in. Once enough collects on your fingers, dripping down toward your wrist and further, you make direct eye contact with him; Letting him see the flash of the soft pink of your tongue over your lips, before you turn your head to the side and let him watch you suck them clean. 

“Do you think any of that is going to scare me off?” You ask, as you casually dip your fingers back in for another coating, and he squirms under your warm but no less serious gaze. “I love you. I love your mess. I want to see it all. Color?”

He meets you midway, catching your gaze as it comes back up to his face from his crotch, reaching out to stroke your head. 

“Green--” He says, and smiles at you. “Just be careful. I don’t want to wind up-- Uh-- I don’t want to wind up blinding you when I cum, or something.”

You lean into the contact, grinning, doing your best to not laugh too hard in response. 

“Yeah, yeah, as if you wouldn’t enjoy the novelty of leading me around by the hand until I get to the point of _literal_ post nut clarity.” You huff, leaning forward to catch his lips with yours. The kiss is chaste enough, but that forked tongue of his slips a little further into your mouth, twisting around your own fatter tongue, and you stare at him in confusion when you pull back, until it hits you, and you grin-- Wry and absolutely shit-eating.

“You like how you taste, baby?” Comes the question Leviathan had visibly begun to dread when you pulled back, but he nods anyway. You consider the slick wetness staining your skin, yet again bringing your fingers to your lips. It’s a contemplative gesture as much as it is anything else, and you take care to be thorough, right where he can see you, until your fingers are clean and spit slicked, and his pupils are nearly eclipsing the orange and indigo of his irises. 

“... I like how I taste when it tastes like you, too--” He admits, the words falling from his lips almost as easily as the trail of drool curving down his jaw does. “It tastes different. Sweeter, somehow. Really-- R-Really good…”

Awwww. You make a note to ask him what you taste like when you aren’t also fresh from licking your fingers clean, later. 

“Good to hear, because I really like how you taste.” You say, bringing your hand back down between his legs, your patience worked just thin enough to keep you from teasing him further. Two fingers, plus your thumb applying pressure over the point in his engorged slit where his hemipenes are directly under, find their way back inside of him, their pace slow and languid, but far faster than your initial teasing crooking. It’s not steady-- Not an even pace, not a consistent rhythm-- because Leviathan has gone from lightly wriggling, to full on squirming, eyes squeezed shut and feet planted squarely on the ground, pushing his ass up off of the beanbag for a second, before you reach out and hold him firmly in place, cooing gently.

“Easy,” you mumble. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry. You’re going to cum so pretty on these fingers, on this tongue, aren’t you?”

Unable-- Unwilling, given the fact that he is a demon and you’re technically a human, despite claims to the contrary-- to break out from under your hold, he has no room to squirm away from the shivers your attention leaves him wracked with, every stroke enough to bring on a fresh wave of curses, both human and infernal. You’re fairly certain you hear a ‘yes’ in there, even if it’s shortly followed by a desperate cry and therefore a little hard to process, and… Well. 

You did say you liked how he tasted, after all.

It starts slowly. You lean up to catch him in a brief kiss, before beginning to work down his frame-- Kissing at the edge of his jaw, the column of his throat, his collarbone. You still opt to leave his hoodie on, but with the hand not fucking him stupid on its fingers, you stroke up his side and up to his pec, tweaking his nipple on your way back down to that same shock of lilac hair you’d largely skipped over earlier. This time, however, it’s damp with sweat and slickness, and thus you need to brush a bit of it out of the way, using how soaked it is to your advantage in getting it stuck on itself long enough for you to just… Look at him.

It’s… Messy. He’s dripping and your fingers certainly aren’t helping, the flow of blood in the area leaving the edges of his vent puffy and a deep pink you’re not used to seeing on him. Allowing your curiosity to get the better of you, you reach out to carefully press just above the folds of his vent, allowing you just a glimpse of the writhing tips presently trying their best to hold your fingers in place before he cries out, desperately, and starts to try and fuck himself; Directly against your rhythm, leaving you out of sync and worried, more than anything, about hurting him unintentionally, as he spears himself on your digits. You reach out and rest your free hand on his hip again, and after a few slow upward thrusts of your fingers, remove them entirely; Leaving him to whine as you sort yourself out and adjust your posture. Though your arm is sore from the exertion and you’re definitely going to be feeling it tomorrow in your wrist, you find yourself still wanting to do more. Still wanting to see him fall apart, taste him losing it on your tongue.

Thus, you set yourself up to do just that.

It’s simple enough to get his knees up enough to fit your arms under, and your hands smooth over his stomach before taking a firm hold on either side of his hips, squeezing gently. 

“I’m going to take care of you,” you say, tone gentle but firm. “Mouth first, then maybe with some fingers. Okay? How’re we color wise?”

He’s staring at you like you’ve grown a third head, a fresh flush rising up to eclipse the first. Mulling his response over long enough to make you just a little worried, he eventually speaks up; Soft voiced and fond.

“Uh.” He sucks in a small breath. “Green. Really, really green. You could do pretty much anything to me right now and I’d cum, honestly, but the thought of-- Of your mouth, it’s--” Inhale. Exhale. You can see just the slightest flicker of something between the thick ridges of his vent, and a little dribble of slick lavender that follows shortly afterward, and your mouth waters almost reflexively. “It’s so good. It’s so good. Please show me? Please?”

“I will, I promise-- You just be a good boy for me,” you respond, using your thumb to slowly part the edges of his slit, leaning forward to lathe your tongue over it once, then twice. He tastes of salt and sweat and little else, and his pubes are tickling your nose, but you linger there, unmoving, rather than continue and risk fucking up the perfect tension between the two of you. Drinking in the sensation of being between his thighs, even as he starts to make little impatient noises under his breath, covering his face with one hand as the other reaches for you. Its when you feel one of his hands tangle in your hair that you actually start to move again, pressing closer and slipping your tongue between his folds. 

“So good for me,” You praise, muffled by hair and heated skin, as he chokes out a curse in a language you're not sure you understand, pulling back just a little before diving back in, pressing just above the opening of his vent again to give yourself more space to work with. “I love you so much.”

You don't claim to be an expert when it comes to giving head; not by a long shot. In fact, you'd say-- To anyone who asked, which wouldn't be a ton of people, but some of your roommates are fucking _weird--_ you’re pretty rusty, even on a good day. Lack of chances to experiment properly (and safely) in the devildom plus a minimal set of human realm experiences have left you woefully unprepared for the sensation of having your tongue curled around by the bitter, salty heads of your boyfriend’s cocks, and doubly unprepared for how _good_ it feels to feel them tug on your tongue, prompting you to shift and angle your chin to one side, like you’re frenching him near the tail end of a late night university party-- Like your life depends on it. Your tongue curls around one squirming tip and tugs, minutely, prompting a cry from above you as his fist in your hair tightens.

“ _Please_ ,” you hear him beg, though his thighs trying to tighten around your head are making it borderline impossible to parse what the fuck he's saying, “ _please._ ”

The strain of his hand in your hair isn't painful just yet, even as his lightly pointed nails dig into your scalp, but it _does_ something to you, making you moan directly into the… Kiss? As you start to move in earnest. Lifting your chin a touch and crowding your hand in underneath it, you spread him with your fingers and start to devour him in earnest. There's never a pattern to your movements-- You’re too busy riding the high that his scent leaves you with, heady and thick, and swallowing as much of that pearly arousal as you can manage.

It's… Unfortunate, that you still have reflexes, though. It really is. Because you have to stop eating him out like your life depended on it, specifically so you can sneeze directly toward the floor, when the tickling from his pubes gets to be too much for your stupid, stupid little nose. He only laughs at you a little, too busy babbling incoherently as you fuck him with your fingers once you realize that he is, in fact, laughing at you. And then you sneeze again, and curl your fingers, and he laughs harder, clenching around you all the while. 

“I-I’m so sorry, I just-- That’s so cute…” He says, covering his mouth as if that will stop you from seeing the way his shoulders shake or how his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You’re so cute. You should see how-- How good you look when you’re focusing on eating me out. It's like-- It's like a work of art! Like the hottest doujinshi money could _ever_ buy--”

You have the decency to keep fucking him through this, content to have a break from sneezing constantly as your fingers slip deeper and deeper into him, stroking at a spot that makes him jerk in place every time the pads of your fingertips as he continues. 

“But it’s even better because you’re _here_ and you _love me_ , and you don’t-- you don’t think this is _weird_ . That I'm _gross_. You wiped your nose on my thigh because you didn’t want to leave me!” He manages, though he has to stop and start and stumble over his words in a way that would be very annoying to write out in full but very endearing to hear in reality. You’re still trying to see how you can fuck with him, of course, but your fingers start to slow as his eyes water, and you pray that your aching back won't betray you as you try to sit up to comfort him. He holds you back, though, hand firm in your hair. 

“And I’m-- I’m really lucky to have you by my side, my Henry,” he says, jerking in place when you start to lean back in to slip your tongue in alongside your slowly thrusting fingers. “E-even if you are a puppet master who cursed my dicks. I didn't know they could _do_ that thing they did a little bit ago.”

You can't help it-- you snort, burying your face in his crotch and laughing, a smile making it impossible to keep fucking him with your tongue. Looking up toward him with a glare that holds so little heat it might as well have not been there, you snicker again before scrunching your nose up a little. “Who’s to say Henry couldn't be a puppet master who cursed the Lord of Shadows' dick?”

He pauses. Squints a little. 

“... Like a good curse, right?” He asks, after a moment. It's honestly a little scary how serious he can manage to be whilst being fucked, but not a surprise! “Maybe an enchantment is a better word for it...”

“Of course,” you say, like you aren’t presently three fingers, knuckle deep in his vent. “Like Henry would ever want to _hurt_ his Lord. It's probably just some blood manipulation!” Which isn’t really a thing, “Ooor maybe a bit of an engorgement thing. Easy enough to resolve, though, if he winds up tired of it.” Also not a thing!

You make eye contact, then, pausing your movements as you lock eyes. His pupils are blown wide, still, and the soft flush over his cheeks burns just as bright, but he seems to be mulling over your blatant disrespect for basic magic genre breakdowns at the same time. As he does this, you spread your fingers a little, pressing up against the underside of his squirming cocks from the inside as rudely as possible. 

Words can’t properly describe the noise that pulls from his mouth, somewhere between a laugh and a desperate moan, but what it does sound like is him about to die.

“Fuck-- _hey!_ ” He says, pushing his hair out of his face with his free hand as the other grips the top of your head as tightly as he can manage without hurting you. His hips are squirming harder under your nearly bruising grip, but you don’t relent-- Watching him gasp for air as his arousal starts to flow in earnest, staining the beanbag below him with something that-- God. You really shouldn’t be comparing your boyfriend’s precum to shampoo in your head. It’s accurate, but what the fuck? “No _fair_ , I was distracted!”

“If that's unfair--” you say, perhaps just a touch winded from the effort of it all, though the edge of something taunting still seeps into your tone as you glance down to your hand, at the flickers of his tips as they curl around the thickest parts of your fingers, “--you’re going to really love this. Just give me a second, mm?”

The best part about Leviathan is how expressive he is. The way his eyes widen and his lips curl into a wibbly, nervous, open-mouthed something that sure does look like an emotion you can’t quite place; The way his gentle flush flares up as he processes precisely what’s going on, and the reflexive press of his heel up against your back as he flounders to support himself, lifted off of his hips further by you sitting up on your knees. You’re bowed forward, still, naturally, but his thigh on the side that you’ve been holding on to is supported by your shoulder, its twin planted firmly on the floor near your knees, and his head is pressed so far back into the beanbag that you’re almost worried he might suffocate if he isn’t careful. God, what a reason to go to Lucifer for emergency healing. 

You can feel him clenching around your fingers, a longer and longer still length of his hemipenes coiling tightly around you as he starts to babble-- Getting louder the closer you come to making contact with his vent, like some sort of horny metal detector.

“Pleasepl _easepleaseplease_ -” He says, urgently, as you clumsily but eagerly mouth at him while also trying not to nail yourself in the eye with the steadily, briskly moving heel of your palm or knuckles on the hand you’re fucking him with. 

“I’m so close-- Don’t stop, don’t stop, I can’t take any more teasing!” Comes when you angle your fingers downward and slip one out of him, pulling away from the steady coil of his cocks, only for them to gleefully curl around your tongue, bitter and salty in a way that makes your mouth water. You moan, low in the back of your throat, and...

“Right there, right-- _haaaah_ \-- right there!” Is what you hear before he starts to fuck himself on your tongue and fingers, the hand tightly tangled in your hair gripping hard enough to ache, ever so slightly. Not that you mind. Everything about this is so much, <i>too</i> much, and you move to match his enthusiasm with your own, curling your fingers further into him, pressing at the spots he’d reacted best to earlier but with none of the caution that you’d taken initially, when your patience hadn’t been yanked out of your body via your tongue. You can taste the difference, when he starts to get close, but what really gets it across to you is when he utterly, _fundamentally_ loses control.

It starts with a shudder of his frame, the rapid shift of his body temperature from room temperature to cool to just a bit warmer than normal immediately apparent from your present status as a makeshift thermometer. You haven’t had the opportunity to feel what it’s like to be fucking him when he lets his demon form slip, but you come to realize that that’s exactly what it is when you cast a worried glance up toward him through your lashes, and find yourself watching him mid transformation, back arched and free, freshly clawed hand tearing vicious gashes into the deep blue upholstery of the beanbag. From what you can hear-- given that you’re yet again deafened by the meat of his thighs clasping your head in place like a sexy, sentient watermelon--, his horns are starting to rip into the part of the beanbag he’s leaning up into, as well. God, that cleanup is going to fucking blow.

Your momentary distraction doesn’t last super long, once his tail starts to curl urgently around your thigh and squeeze, rubbing up against your groin over the minimal amount of clothing you’d kept on for the occasion. He’s so far gone he can hardly put together syllables, much less words, but it sounds like praise, like a warning that he’s close, and from the fact that you can no longer keep all of the precum and general mess swallowed without rushing and pushing your jaw to the point of aching bone deep? You trust your instincts-- Hold him tighter to your face, curl your tongue up toward the sensitive sheath of his cocks-- and redouble your efforts.

Your reward comes in the form of two things.

One, his tail slipping under your bottoms to rut up against you, and two-- 

Well, two is the fact that it feels like he just fucking shot you in the mouth with a watergun. A salty, body warm water filled water gun. You know he’s cumming-- The hoarse shout and crushing force of his hand at the back of your head shoving your face as far as it can manage to reach into his vent are pretty hard to misinterpret-- but it still comes as a surprise. You… Honestly thought he wouldn’t cum like this, wouldn’t cum this hard.

Goes to show you what assumptions make of you, if you make them. 

His orgasm lasts a while-- in part because you won’t stop fucking him through it, but also just-- seemingly-- because he’s either pent up or horrifically virile, the latter of which you don’t want to think about too hard, just yet. There’s cum everywhere, forming a neat little puddle where it’s dribbled down your chin and forearm, and by the time you’re too tired to keep on fucking him stupid, he’s sobbing-- Desperate, though you’re not immediately certain as to what. You slow your pace, then still entirely, gingerly pulling back and looking up at him, your expression soft despite the fact that you, presumably, look like cumshot Santa during the off season. 

“... You good?” You ask, voice rough with the strain of keeping him out of his own puddle of ejaculate, “That-- You… Wow. _Fuck_.” Sighing, you give him a wry smile. “You did really good. I love you.”

A breath. His tail has since stilled up against you, eventually going limp as he moves to-- Oh so shakily, something you take a great deal of pride in-- bring his leg down from your shoulder, though he yelps when he accidentally puts his heel in his rapidly cooling cum puddle and grimaces. He course corrects, carefully spreading his legs so that he can settle, just a little, even though his tail is sticky with cum and the beanbag underneath him is much the same.

“Hhhuh,” He says, initially, too unsteady to finish his thought. His eyes are watery, dazed, and unfocused-- Which you aren’t too proud to say you’re a little pleased by. “I’m-- Sorry,” He starts, prompting you to raise an eyebrow as you shuffle a little closer to him, knelt proper in the cuddle (cum puddle) without flinching, since it means you get to reach out and brush your hand through his hair, slowly. Nuzzling into the contact, he takes a breath before continuing, voice wavering.

“I’m sorry-- I wish I could’ve lasted longer, but that spot you were pressing…” He starts, grimacing a little as he looks to the side. “You’re not mad, right? I love you- Once I’ve gotten a chance to breathe, I’ll-- I can help you, too, okay?”

You pause. It’s not as if you _aren't_ affected by what just happened-- Quite the contrary. His tail loosely coiled around your leg is a promise, if the reflexive rutting had been anything to go by earlier, and you feel the heat rise to your face quickly, though you shake your head just as fast, leaning up to kiss him gently as you cup his cheek with your hand.

“I want to make sure you’re alright and rested before we do anything else,” You say, softly. “I can cum later. Once we’ve gotten you some water and cleaned you up-- Alright?”

He seems uncertain; A faint furrow knits his brows together, and he worries his lower lip with too sharp fangs as his tail slowly uncoils from its place around your thigh. After a minute, though, he nuzzles into your palm again; Reflexive, yielding. 

“... Fine,” he says, quietly, just a touch petulant. Is he pouting? What a brat. You laugh, sitting back on your heels to fix your hair with your comparatively drier hand, and nod as he continues. “But you have to promise to remind me, okay? Please don’t forget. The way you looked when you picked my leg up reminded me of _My Demon Roommate Is A Rookie Incubus, and I’m Their Final Human Test!_ , when the protagonist has their roommate go down on them to prep them! E-Except I know you’re not-- you’re my cute human partner who is definitely really a human but also _really really good_ at doing stuff I could only initially think of one of them doing…”

You move to pull him up into a sitting position as he continues to talk, amusement clear in the faint upward tick of your lips and the crinkling of the corners of your eyes, and reach out to first brush the stuffing of the beanbag out of his hair and off of his horns. 

“You’ll have to show it to me, once we’ve gotten all of this fucking business over with,” You say, kissing his cheek. “But first, can we get you out of the cum puddle? I don’t think you want that staining the floor, Lucifer’ll kill both of us.”

A pause. He looks down between his legs, where you’ve settled yourself, before looking back at you, a shameful flush quickly turning his face and the tips of his ears pink. 

“... Y-Yeah,” He laughs, clearing his throat. “I don’t think I want to miss out on the chance to-- To make you feel half as good as I felt just now, honestly, as much as I just want to lay here. Can’t… Can’t make love--” He squeaks a little, as you start to move to stand, using his thigh as a support in your endeavor, “if we’re dead! Right?”

You pause, wobbling on your feet, before offering your hand to him, eyes squinted in thought.

“... I’m pretty sure ghosts can fuck, actually!” You say. “Have you ever played the sims? You can fuck the ghosts, I think. I’ve never met a ghost down here, but I can _only_ assume that there’s probably some really good ectoplasm bukkake out there if you know where to look.” Pause. “-- Oooor, if you have a very curious and very good at navigating the Devildom’s wild, wonderful, kind of horrifying internet partner.”

He takes your hand, grimacing a little at the prospect but _very_ likely to do whatever you ask almost without question.

“... Now that you mention it, I think I saw something like that on a messageboard once-- I don’t think it’d take more than a few searches to find the source…”

… God, you love him. This isn’t the first or last time you’ll find yourself a little surprised by all of the shit Leviathan has dipped his toes into in the past, you figure, but it _sure is_ the most convenient to date. Pulling him to his feet, you catch him as he wobbles; And hold him close, just savoring his touch for a little while longer.


End file.
